


No Son Of Mine

by CalledForMishap



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Bobby, BAMF Caleb, BAMF Jim, Caring John Winchester, Child Abuse, Coddled Sam Winchester, Depends On What Mood I'm In When I Write The End, Emotional Abuse, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, John Winchester Being an Asshole, John's A+ Parenting, Might Have A Happy Ending, Most Definitely AU, Pre-Series, Probably With Little Comfort, Protective Bobby Singer, Protective Caleb, Protective Jim Murphy, Protective John Winchester, Sort of AU, Spoiled Sam Winchester, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester, clueless Sam Winchester, or so you think, probably AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-04-15 12:35:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4606998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalledForMishap/pseuds/CalledForMishap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things were a blur before "After". They weren't great by any means, but compared to what was happening to Dean now, "Before" was practically heaven. Dean's having trouble hiding the bruises, but if Sam knows, he doesn't seem to put two and two together; Dean absolutely refuses to believe that his brother just doesn't care. He tries to push through it, knowing that things have been tough on his dad, but when he starts to fear  that one of these times his father isn't going to stop, he heads out to seek refuge from a few friends. When word gets out that John is hellbent on getting Dean back, though, Dean's afraid that he might've just brought three innocents into a war that they were never meant to be apart of. *Title from the song "No Son Of Mine" by Genesis.*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Before"

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry! I know, I know. This chapter was way, WAY short, but there is plenty more to come and I promise the coming chapters will be longer. Consider this a 'tasting' chapter to give you a little bit of insight to the rest of the story. ;) Hope you like it! Reviews would be greatly appreciated! Tell me what you liked, didn't like, or questions on why certain things happened the way that they did! I'll be happy to reply!

Dean didn't know when exactly it happened, just that things went from stable and sometimes happy, to a living hell made specifically for him.

  
He remembers that the few years before ‘After’, as he’s gone to calling it, was a grieving time for all of them. His mom was gone, had gone somewhere that he couldn't, Sammy wouldn’t stop crying, and Dad was always gone and came back late in the night smelling foul. After leaving their Aunt and Uncle's house, their dad had driven them to a motel that smelled like Sammy's dirty diapers and only had one bed plus Sammy's carry crib. Dean had no idea what was happening or how to help make it better. 

His father's kind words and kisses as he tucked Dean into bed for the night were replaced with barely-there glances as he grabbed the Impala's keys and a command to watch Sammy before he disappeared into the night, not bothering to come back until predawn. John never realized that Dean didn't sleep when he was gone, would sit sentinel in Sammy's crib until John was safely back inside the locked motel room and sleeping in his bed.

Dean never felt the urge for sleep when his father was gone, only a sense of a feeling that he would learn to know quite well; loneliness. 

Dean couldn’t function like a normal kid was supposed too, was still too deep in the mourning of his lost mother and not receiving the respite from the grief that a present father should've given. Instead, he was left to repress his grief, to mourn but never heal. He was becoming a robot, keen to please a man that was blind to his child's suffering because he was too focused on his own. Dean’s mind was on autopilot, nothing registered with his psyche besides mom's gone and make sure Sammy's okay so dad doesn't get mad; not a single thought that went through his four-year-old brain was his own…and they wouldn’t be for months to come.

~~~~~~~

Almost a full year passed before things started to change for the better. When his dad finally came back to the motel room one night at a decent time, smelling faintly like himself and not yelling or weeping in loss, Dean knew that things were finally settling back down from the chaos that they'd been living in.

His father actually looked him in the eye and spoke his name, asked him what he wanted for dinner instead of throwing a box of greasy leftovers from a bar on the table and waiting for Dean to find it in the morning. Dean wanted to answer, more than anything in the world, he wanted to tell his dad that he didn't care what they ate so long as they ate together, but after months of silence and being treated like nothing more than a shadow, he physically couldn't get the words to pass his vocal chords. His father gave him a frustrated look that made Dean flinch into himself, but the look was quickly overpowered by worry at Sammy's disgruntled cry that came from across the room. At the sight of his almost-never-there father picking up his younger brother for the first time in 8 months and not looking straight to Dean to fix the crying child, Dean almost let out a sob. His daddy was back. Everything was going to be okay now.

That night was the first night in over 11 months that the now-five-year-old boy held any hope for the family’s future.


	2. Bandages Big Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John drops the boys off at Bobby's, but he does some pretty heavy damage before he leaves. Bobby's left to pick up the pieces, but he's better at putting things together again than people think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! I told you it would be longer! ;) This is self-checked, so all mistakes are mine and mine alone! As always, leave a comment or kudos to let me know if you like it or not! Thank you for reading!  
> !WARNING!~This chapter and the following chapters might have language that some might not like. You have been warned! 
> 
> (P.s. I'm a very bad girl. I was listening to music the other day and I may've written the ending...without any hope or happiness. In fact it made me cry and I normally don't cry when writing things. I knew I should've turned the sad music off but I couldn't help myself! ;) The good thing is though, I have a few more ideas about how I want the story to end, so they might not end up as depressing and sad as the first one is. There might just be hope yet!)

Dean knew that being seven meant that he had more responsibilities, was trusted with more things, and was going to be given more opportunities to prove himself worthy. Dad had made sure he knew that the day before they had started driving. So the next day when they left their motel in Nevada heading towards their new destination, Dean was a quivering ball of excitement and nerves. This is was actually happening. He was going to go on a hunt with his dad.

Hours later Dean woke in the back seat just in time to see his father take the exit for Sioux Falls instead of continuing on the Interstate towards Iowa like they had been planning. He felt betrayed and more than a little angry. 

How was Dean supposed to prove to his father that he was a good enough hunter if said father didn’t even give him the chance to hunt? Dean knew that his father was in desperate need of a hunting partner, someone to have his back while he went into the bigger, more dangerous hunts. John had come back from the previous hunt banged up and grouchier than ever. Dean thought that his father must’ve still been feeling the bruises before they left because he was shouting at Dean more than he ever did after a hunt. It was just another reason that Dean was so adamant to hunt; to make sure that bad things didn’t happen to his dad.  

~~~~~~~

John’s patience finally snapped after the fifth time Dean sighed loudly from his seat on the stairs. “Dammit, Dean! Get the fuck over it already and stop being such a damn baby! You’re not going, and if you keep up with the attitude, I’ll make sure you never will for the rest of your natural born life!”

The only sound that permeated the stunned air was the sound of four-year-old Sammy pushing matchbox cars across the floor above them. 

Dean’s green eyes were wide with apology, worry, and surprise, not realizing that he was sulking loud enough to bother his father. He stood shaking and looked at his clasped hands in front of him. “Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again.”

“Dean. What’ve I said about looking at me when you’re speaking?” 

Dean’s head whipped up. “Sorry, sir! Won’t happen again!” 

John grunted and glared at his son. “Stop repeating yourself. You sound like a damn broken record. You wouldn’t have to apologize so damn much if you just did the right thing in the first place! I’m getting tired of it, Dean!” 

Bobby, who was sitting passively in the chair next to John, glanced at Dean and saw the boy’s hands start to shake. He shot his head to John, hoping to god that the man hadn’t seen the so-called ‘sign of weakness’, but the grizzly bear of a man was focusing back on the lore book that was sitting in his lap while taking a swig of his beer, effectively cutting off any continuing conversation and dismissing the boy all in one flippant gesture. 

Bobby gritted his teeth at the blatant sign of disregard the man had for his son that wanted nothing more than to please him but refrained from saying anything else, in fear of making the man stay longer than he was planning. The longer John stayed, the harder it would be for Bobby to stop himself from saying something he would regret.

Bobby watched with trepidation as the young boy made his way slowly up the stairs, shoulders slumped and head bowed. He’d be giving the boy a talk as soon as his good-for-nothing father was out of the way. 

Twenty long minutes later and John was finally gathering the few things he had brought in to head out. Before he left, though, he gathered his sons at the bottom of the stairs. 

“I’m leaving, and I want you boys to be on your best behavior for Bobby.” After receiving two nods of confirmation, he continued. “Dean, if you give Bobby any of the lip that you’ve given me today, you’ll be running laps alone in the rain for the next month. Sammy, buddy, I want you to look after your big brother ok? Make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble.” 

Bobby didn’t think that any of John’s words were too out of line, except of course the running in the rain part, but when he heard a sharp inhale of breath from the eldest boy, Bobby thought otherwise. 

Bobby watched in heartbroken horror as Dean’s eyes welled up with unwanted tears as he held a hand out to shake with his father and was then resolutely ignored by the man, who bent down to give Sammy a hug and was out the door without a backward glance. 

Bobby ran to catch up with Winchester, shot-gun in hand, intent on asking him just what the hell he thought he was doing, but he realized he was too late as he stepped outside the front door and literally ate John’s dust as the Impala roared out of his yard.

“Damn you. John! You motherfucker!” Bobby chucked an empty beer bottle at the retreating car’s outline and then rushed back into his house, afraid that the damage would already be too big to fix. 

Bobby was panicked when he saw Sam sitting alone in the living room, eyes focused on the ancient television set. “Sammy? Where’s your brother?”

Sam barely glanced Bobby’s way before turning back to the movie. “He said to tells you that he was goin to go for a walk wif Rumsfield. He said hes was fine, but he was cryin, so I called hims a liar liar pants on fire. He told me jus’ watch Thunder Cats, so I did. I’m bein good, jus like daddy told me too, but Dean’s bein bad. I think I need to call daddy and tell him. That’s what Dean does when I’m bad.” With his new-found mission in mind, Sam slid his little body down off the couch and started toddling towards the kitchen phone. Bobby was quick to stop him, though, knowing that Sam calling John to say that Dean was being bad was the worst thing that could happen right now, especially since John was only a few minutes away still. 

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, Sam. I’ll take care of Dean and you just sit like a good boy and watch your show.” Bobby steered the small boy back towards the couch and was satisfied when he just got a nod from the boy, already engrossed with the television again. Bobby sighed in relief and then made a break for the back door. 

He knew Sam was only a young child, but the way he was thinking about throwing his brother to the wolves so easily, and the way that he was so indifferent to Dean’s pain was something that was starting to get to Bobby. When Bobby first met the boys a couple of years back, he was awed at the bond that had seemed so strong between the two. They were so in tune with each other it was almost unbelievable, but just the past few weeks it seemed like Sam was developing a ‘daddy’s boy’ streak, one that was just as sudden as it was mystifying.

Bobby started his search close to the house, knowing that Dean wouldn’t be there, but needing to be sure anyways. After that he broadened his search, making his way into the salvage yard. When Dean wasn’t found in the heaps of junk, Bobby’s panic levels rocketed up another notch.  

“DEAN? WHERE ARE YA, SON?” Bobby’s gruff voice bellowed into the quiet afternoon air and Bobby was sure that if the boy was within a five-mile radius, which he most definitely was, he would be able to hear Bobby loud and clear. 

Bobby waited a minute before hearing a faint bark near the back of the junk yard. After wondering for a moment why Rumsfield had strayed so far from the house and then remembering what Sam had said about Dean taking the dog for a walk, he swiftly made his way towards the sound.

The bark was actually further than he thought it was, almost a good thousand yards into the timber from where he had thought he had pin-pointed it. After fighting with the brush for half a mile, he was surprised to step out of the shelter of the trees to find a clearing surrounding a crystal clear pond. He knew his property like the back of his hand, but apparently this little gem had been made in the past ten years because it sure as hell wasn’t there the last time Bobby had scouted the land.

Dean sat on a log, staring deeply into the rippling water, Rumsfield at his feet. 

At the sight of his owner, Rumsfield raised his head and huffed a greeting, but quickly lost motivation and laid his head back into the space between his paws. Bobby patted the dog on the top of his head as he passed him. Sitting gingerly on the log, so as not to tip them, Bobby settled in next to a tense and tear-streaked Dean. Before Bobby could say a single thing, Dean was already rambling. 

“I’m sorry, Bobby. I just wanted to take Rumsfield for a walk. I didn’t mean to leave Sammy by himself, but he was watching t.v., and I didn’t want to make him cranky by bringing him with me. I’m sorry if he did anything wrong and I’ll start making dinner as soon as we get back to the house. I know I didn’t ask your permission to leave the house or to go on your land. I won’t..”

Bobby silenced the panicking boy before him with a raised hand. He quickly lowered it when he saw Dean wince away, but he tucked that knowledge away for further discussion. “Dean, you’re fine son. Don’t apologize for exploring and I _definitely_ don’t need you to apologize for taking ole’ Rumsfield here on a walk. Lord knows he gets too many table scraps and naps and not enough walks.” Bobby chuckled, just to try and ease the tension that still knotted Dean’s small frame. He only got a small smile for his effort, but he called it a victory nonetheless. “Sam’s just fine and I don’t blame you for not bringing him along. He’s attached to that t.v. like a leech to a body and sometimes people just need alone time, you know? Being saddled with your brother all the time has to get frustrating and there’s nothing wrong with wanting a little time to yourself.”

Dean looked up at Bobby with grateful eyes, knowing that the man was giving him a chance to blame his moment of weakness as nothing more than being annoyed with his little brother. He would never be able to thank Bobby enough for not making Dean talk about the things that he couldn’t, even though Dean could tell Bobby was itching to. “Yeah. But he’s still my little brother, and it’s my job to look after him.”

Bobby huffed a snort. “Well even those of us that work non-stop need a break every now and then. That’s why you’re here at my house. It’s my turn to watch the little rug-rat. Take this as your vacation time.” When Bobby saw that Dean wasn’t going to argue, and even looked wistfully at the pond, Bobby got an idea. “I think I have an old pair of Caleb’s swim shorts laying around the house somewhere. I was going to toss them, but I think I just found a young man that might need them.”

Dean looked at Bobby with a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. “Really? I can go swimming?!” 

Bobby was shocked at the simple question. Who knew that doing something as little as swimming would make the boy so happy. “Well yeah! I wouldn’t have offered you swim trunks just to stare at! Maybe I’ll set up a tent out here, get a campfire goin, maybe even drag out an old car radio. We can have ourselves a real vacation!”

Dean’s face lit up like fireworks on the Fourth of July. “Really, Uncle Bobby?! You’d do that?!”

Bobby chuckled on the outside, but on the inside, he was cursing John Winchester for taking all the fun out of living. “Well of course! Last time I did anything fun was when Caleb was your age! It’s damn time I loosened up and took a break from staring at books all day. If I keep it up, I’ll end up going cross-eyed!” Bobby crossed his eyes dramatically and made a funny face, feeling triumphant when he got a full laugh from Dean this time. 

Dean jumped up excitedly, bouncing in place. “Come on, Uncle Bobby! Time’s a wastin!”

Bobby laughed as Dean threw back an old catch phrase that he used to use to get the boys out of bed in the morning. “Hold your horses there, young stallion! I’m an old man and I can’t get up as easily as used too!” Bobby’s knees creaked just at the moment to prove his point. Dean just rolled his eyes, mirth glimmering in their green depths, and reached a hand out to the struggling hunter. When Bobby was finally vertical, Dean practically sprinted in the direction of the house. 

“Dean! Slow down, dammit! I ain’t that fast!” Bobby growled as he watched even Rumsfield bound off like the puppy he hasn’t been for over seven years. “Damn dog always leaving me for the young ones.” 

Bobby’s sour expression was replaced with a broad smile, though, as he heard Dean’s gleeful laughter echo through the trees. It was a sound that had been missing from the boy for awhile now, and Bobby was especially glad that it was him that had brought it out of the boy.

Bobby was grateful that he was able to find a bandage big enough to at least cover the worst of the wounds John had inflicted on the seven-year-old before he left. Unfortunately, Bobby knew with a sinking feeling that as soon as John was back, this bandage was going to be ripped away, and the wounds were going to be made as raw as if they had never healed. 

 


	3. All Good Things Come To An End Eventually

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys had the best times of their lives that weekend, so sue Bobby if he enjoyed it just as much as the young children; it wasn't like he got to do it very often. He would find out very soon that he should have enjoyed it just a little bit more, because what happened next, nobody could've guessed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3!  
> Just a side note that I've started school this week, so updates may or may not be a little late. I'm going to really try to stick with this one, and update on a somewhat weekly basis, but in the off chance that I don't, you know why and I apologize in advance.  
> The first part of the story (like the first three or four paragraphs) are in Dean's POV, but then it switches to Bobby's, just as a little heads-up.  
> Hope you like the update and keep doing the wonderful job of commenting and liking! It does wonders to my brain and when my brain's happy, better work seems to make its way out onto the computer.  
> If you want certain things to happen or have ideas or questions, I'd be more than happy to listen!  
> This story is self-checked, so all mistakes are mine and I unwillingly own up to them. ;)  
> !WARNING!-This chapter/story does have some pretty intense language at times. If you don't like profanity, you have been warned. Continue on at your own risk.

Dean declared Bobby the best, not-related, uncle there ever was on the face of the earth! 

After running back to the house, feeling as if he felt a thousand pounds lighter, he had bolted up the stairs in search of the trunks Caleb had unknowingly gifted him. 

Dean had found the trunks after only minutes of searching and was sitting impatiently on the musty old recliner in the living room by the time Bobby came huffing back into the house. 

It didn’t take long for Bobby and Dean to get Sam situated in an old swim diaper that was lying around and to get three bags full of food that would sustain them all until dinner time.

 

Before leaving the house, Bobby slathered both the boys in sunscreen, knowing full-well that as soon as they were out the door, getting sunscreen on the two of them would be harder than herding cats. 

Deciding against letting Dean run ahead alone again, he made the boy sit with Sam in an old rusted Chevy pickup while Bobby loaded the back of it with all necessary camping gear, extra flashlights, two shotguns loaded with rock salt, a sawed off with alternating iron and silver rounds, and two hunting knives; one silver and one made for skinning fish. After making a pit-stop in the salvage garage for an old, fold-up poker table, and two large speakers that he had lifted from one of his previous fix-ups, they made their way towards Dean’s new spot.  

It was slow going, and as there was no path to their destination, they had to make their own. Tree branches scratched at the top of the truck, while bushes and weeds screeched as they shoved against the metal at the bottom. Wheels were sent jolting as bumps and dips presented themselves suddenly in the thick foliage. If Bobby hadn’t had the Chevy for more than forty-five years and hadn’t left it to rust in the less-visited part of the yard, he would’ve been worried about almost everything that was taking its toll on the vehicle, but as it was, Bobby just gunned the engine a little harder when he was met with resistance. 

Finally, after more than twenty minutes of thinking that they were never going to make it, they were met with glorious accomplishment as they finally broke free of the timber into the clearing. 

Bobby had barely opened his mouth to tell the boys to have fun and be careful, when said boys were already gone, truck door still bouncing with the force of its opening. 

After that it was nothing but shouts of joy, trills of laughter, splashes of water, crackles of a fire, and a steady thrum of music warbling its way out of speakers set up on an old table. The sounds went on until late that night until the only thing that could be heard were the snores of those that had let go of everything and had fun until they dropped with exhaustion. 

~~~

Bobby shook his head, dismayed that he hadn’t thought to check the time before letting the boys sleep in and then go for a morning swim. This disaster could’ve been avoided if they had just made it to the house a little earlier.

~~~ 

After that first night by the pond, Bobby had willingly let himself be goaded into staying for another night…and another. It wasn’t like it was hurting anything. The boys were having fun like they’d never had before and there was a shimmer in Dean’s eyes that had replaced the dull, lifeless edge that had been residing there since arriving earlier that weekend at Bobby’s house. It was the biggest reason the boys didn’t have much trouble convincing the hunter to stay those two extra nights. If Bobby could give the boys those extra two nights of freedom and fun, especially for Dean, who bore the weight of the world on his young shoulders, who was he to say no? Scouting the woods four times and finding nothing more than trees and more trees was another major factor that the man let himself be such a pushover; there was no danger, so there was no need to pack up early. At least that’s the reason that he told himself when he finally broke his way free of the brush with both boys fast asleep beside him on the truck bench. Things would've been alright, but it was the fact that they were about five hours later than he had originally planned that put the fly on top of the shit cake.

~~~

The sight that met Bobby’s eyes as he had pulled the truck to the front of the garage dread racing down his spine, and the one that made him shake his head with dismay, disaster foreseeable in the near future.  

The Impala was sitting two feet from the front steps of Singer’s house. The car was devoid of any Winchester, and Bobby knew that them not being in the house was going to go down badly. Bobby just hoped to whoever was listening, that John had had a successful hunt and hadn’t been trying to contact Bobby in any way before he showed up.

Sure, Bobby had made his way out of their magical campground to grab extra supplies every now and then and to make sure that nobody had called in a life or death situation, but other than that Bobby had left all forms of contact at the house. The boys were the main focus of the fun that had been happening on the Singer property, and Bobby didn’t want to ruin that with having to take calls all the time or run off to do some lore finding…and if Bobby was completely honest with himself, not answering phones and doing research for some other hunter might’ve been a little more refreshing than he’d willingly admit.

 

Despite knowing the shit-storm that was brewing in the house, he took his time unloading all his gear back in the garage, hoping to let the kids get a few more precious minutes of slumber before they went inside. 

If only life could ever be that easy.

“SINGER!!”

Bobby jolted, almost dropping the large speaker. He grimaced but didn’t say a word. If John was yelling, he damn sure knew where they were. 

Sure enough, not even a minute later John’s footsteps could be crunching swiftly through the gravel. A second later the man himself became visible, face of rage and all. 

“John. How’d the hunt go?” Bobby pretended nonchalance, hoping to defuse the bomb.

John stopped a foot from where Bobby was unpacking equipment. “The hunt was fine. Where are my boys.”

Bobby was a little taken aback by the venom in John’s tone, and he was more than grateful that he had made the boys change out of their swimming gear before getting in the truck. Right now he could play their absence from the house as nothing more than doing errands around the yard, but he had to make sure that he got to really talk to the boys before John did. “They’re asleep in the truck. I had to wake them up early this morning to go into town and grab some supplies. We’ve been doing odds and ends around the yard ever since then. They fell asleep about fifteen minutes ago.” Bobby crossed his fingers behind his back, praying that John would believe him. 

“Well good. Hope Dean helped you. That boy needs a little more hard work to put him back into his place.” John’s eyes skittered towards the truck, and Bobby saw such a raw level of disgust flash through his eyes that Bobby had to take a double-take. When he looked back, though, the look was gone, making Bobby question if it was even there in the first place or if he was just thinking in a bad situation and making it worse.  

“Uh. Yeah. Yeah. Dean’s been great. Don’t know what I’d do without him, actually. I had no idea my t.v. even got more than one channel until Dean came along a fiddled with it. Definitely kept Sammy out from underfoot for a good portion of the time.” Bobby stood up from where he had just thrown the last of the gear. He was silently saying thankful to Caleb for making him put his camping gear in some newfangled waterproof bags. If John was just a bit as behind as Bobby was with the outside world’s gadgets that didn’t pertain to hunting in some way, then Bobby had hopes that John wouldn’t be able to tell what exactly the bags were full of.

John gave Bobby an exasperated face. “You didn’t have to do that, Bobby. You should’ve told Dean to play with his brother. That’s about the only thing Dean’s good at these days besides copping an attitude, and he’s sorta slacking with Sam. I mean Sam's been wonderful, growing up just as he should be, but Dean...” John trailed off with a 'what-can-you-do' shrug. 

Bobby opened his mouth with a rebuke, his hands clenched in fists and ready to swing, when the shriek of the old truck’s hinges sounded out into the yard. Dean got out of the truck slowly, seeming to still be stumbling with leftover sleep, but Bobby realized with a sinking heart that the window of the truck was cracked open just enough for a young child to hear something that his father shouldn't have said.  

Dean didn’t raise his eyes as he came around the side of the truck, but when he realized that he had gotten in trouble for not looking at his father a couple days earlier, he raised them as quickly as possible. Bobby realized what the action was really hiding when he saw that Dean's eyes were misty with tears. 

“Hey, Dad.”

John eyed Dean with a look crossed between rage and disgust. “Why the hell are you fucking crying, Dean? And why isn’t your brother with you?” 

Dean blinked away the forbidden tears and replied with a cracking voice. “Sat on a spring, sir. Pinched my thigh enough to make my eyes water.” 

John rolled his eyes at the lame excuse but let it pass. “And your brother? It’s your job to look after him. I don't want anything to happen to him.”

Dean quickly pointed to the still open door. “He’s still sleeping, sir. I didn’t want to wake him up because we woke up early and he didn’t get to bed until a little later because of a movie we watched with Bobby.”

When John turned his imploring gaze on Bobby, Bobby nodded. Seemingly satisfied with the answer he turned and started towards the truck. Bobby winked at an apologizing Dean, telling him in code that it was all right, that he had done the right thing. Dean nodded minutely. 

“Dean, say thanks to Bobby for watching your ungrateful ass and then get to the car and shut up. I don't want you waking Sam when I get him in there. We have a long drive ahead and I want to get on the road as soon as possible.”

Bobby stiffened at John’s words and glared at the man’s back as he made his way to the side of the truck that Sam was sleeping on. He startled when he felt little arms wrap around his waist. He looked down with a small smile and ruffled Dean’s hair before giving him a hug back. 

“Thanks for the best weekend ever, Uncle Bobby. I won’t ever forget it!” 

Dean’s voice was hushed so that his father didn’t hear him, but Bobby’s heart swelled at the adoration and genuine love that the words were coated with. 

“You’re more than welcome, little man. You ever come back we’ll do it again. Maybe I’ll even build a dock so that you can jump into the deep end and fish out a little farther. How’s that sound?”

Dean’s eyes started shimmering again, but Bobby knew they were tears of joy and overwhelming thanks. Dean blinked them away before any of them could fall. “That’d be awesome! You’re the best!” 

Dean gripped Bobby in a tight hug just as John returned with a sleeping Sam on his shoulder. 

John scoffed in disgust. “Come on you brainless mutt. When I said to say thanks, I didn’t mean make the man hug your nasty little body. Get to the damn car and open the front door so I can set Sammy in.”

Those words were the straw that broke the camels back. 

Bobby could only watch in disgusted horror as Dean ran away as fast as he could, tears streaking down his face, unable to stop them this time, to do what he had been commanded to do. 

Bobby smartly kept his mouth shut until both boys were safely in the car, Dean all alone in the back, clearly crushed at the words that were spoken, and Sam peacefully asleep in the front, absolutely unaware of what was going on outside of his dreams.

As soon as John turned away from the car Bobby jumped him. 

“JUST WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE JONATHAN WINCHESTER?! WHO GAVE YOU THE GODDAMN RIGHT TO TREAT YOUR CHILD LIKE DIRT?!” Bobby’s voice was filled with rage.

John turned, a look of slight surprise on his face that quickly morphed into defensive anger. “What the hell are you talking about, old man? I’ve done the best I could for my kids.”

Bobby sputtered, not expecting John to act so _naive_. “YOU..WHAT!! You just called your son a _mutt_ , John! HOW ON GOD’S GREEN EARTH IS THAT ‘ _DOING THE BEST I COULD’_ ?!”

John snorted. “Oh. You’re talking about _Dean.”_

The way John sneered Dean’s name as if it was something nasty that he found on the bottom of his shoe made Bobby go berserk. He reached under his porch step and whipped out his shotgun. John wisely backed up until he was even with the driver’s side door. “I swear to the lord above, John Winchester, if you **_ever_** step a foot on my property again, I’ll shoot you full of so much rock-salt that you’ll be shitting margarita’s for the rest of your goddamn, pathetic life.” 

John slowly bent at the waist, eyes never leaving the barrel of the gun as he opened his door. “Alright, you crazy fucking bastard, we’re going. Don’t forget to take your antipsychotics when we leave, though, you old bat.”

Bobby watched with outrage and agitation as the infuriating man sped away. Bobby was extremely regretful, though, as soon as he saw Dean’s head in the backseat. Even though Bobby was subjected to witnessing a father emotionally abuse his son, he realized with a sinking heart that he had just unmeaningly taken away that child’s only getaway sanctuary. He had just subjected that child to spending _more_ time with the monster that hurt him. 

Bobby prayed every night after that for Dean’s safety. He knew that the abuse John was using was more emotionally scarring, and even though it was a terrible thing, he prayed that it didn't go any farther than that.

Bobby would also pray for John to miraculously show up some day, threat to his life be damned, and make Bobby watch the boys again, but it was very wishful thinking on Bobby’s part. 

 

That fateful day was the last day Bobby saw any of the Winchester’s.

For more than five years nobody could find any trace of the family, even with the best of bounty hunters on the job.

 

 The day that broke the five-year streak was the one that also broke Bobby, and he would forever regret not fighting harder to get Dean back. 

 


	4. Lies Are Treacherous Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of John's fight doesn't go down well in the motel room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. For being a couple of days late I manage to come up with a shorter and shittier chapter. Sorry! I've been trying to write this chapter all week but I ended up with a bad case of writers block. I just decided to say screw it and post it so that it's out of the way and I can get back on track! Anyhoo... Hope it's not too terrible and I hope you guys stick around and continue reading! You don't know how much it means to me! Thanks for being awesome!  
> Likes and comments feed my muse and make it less destructive, so don't be shy!  
> All mistakes are mine and mine alone.  
> !Warning!~ This chapter and following chapters might have derogatory comments and foul language directed towards a minor. Read at your own discretion.

Dean was scared. He was actually beyond that point, but he didn’t dare let that show in case his dad looked at him. 

He’s not sure exactly what was said during the exchange between his father and Bobby, but when he saw the shotgun being pulled out and pointed at his father, he knew it wasn’t good. He knew Bobby didn’t want to tell his dad about the camping trip, and in all honesty, he didn’t want to either- those memories were special, and Dean was perfectly fine with keeping them between the three of them that had actually been a part of them- but even if something had been said about the trip, Dean knew that there was no way that, _Bobby_ , of all people, would’ve pulled out a shotgun just because of something so little. 

It was confusing, and frustrating, and terrifying.

The car ride was silent save for Sammy’s quiet snores from the front seat. Dean didn’t know how his brother had slept through the slamming door or the squealing tires, but Dean felt it was all the better. Sammy would definitely recount all the cool and fun things he’d done over the weekend as soon as he was awake, and almost none of what he was going to say was apt to sit well with their father.  

 

Dean didn’t know how long exactly they had been driving but when his dad pulled into a motel hours from Bobby’s house later that day, Sam surprisingly sleeping soundly throughout the entire ride, Dean let out a sigh of relief. Almost as soon as Dean’s rush of adrenalin had worn off after the getaway from Bobby’s, his bladder had decided to tell him that he had to go and he had been both too scared and too worried to ask his father to stop, resulting in a little boy jiggling with the absolute, right now, can’t-wait-one-more-minute need to **_go_**.

He waited desperately and about as patiently as he could for his father to come back with the motel key, before rushing into the room as soon as the door was open. In his haste, he bumped into his father, who looked none too happy at the rough movement. 

“Sorry, sir! I gotta go to the bathroom really really badly.” Dean crossed his legs out of necessity and did what Sammy liked to call a ‘potty-dance’. 

John’s eyes raked up and down Dean before turning towards the car without saying a word. Dean took that as his cue and raced towards his destination with a steadfast determination. 

Two minutes later Dean walked out of the bathroom with a loopy grin on his face and muscles loose with relief. Dean was sure that if he hadn’t gone when he had, he would’ve exploded into a million pieces.

Dean hadn’t walked two feet into the room when John came back into the room with Sammy in tow. Sam was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, but he was holding their dad’s hand with a grin plastered on his face. 

“I’s told Daddy what we’s did at Unca Bobby’s!” Dean’s heart fell as Sam’s soared.

Dean risked a glance up at his father and cowered at the glower that he was met with. 

“Sammy, buddy? You want to go out into the car again and wait for me? I know it’s been a long drive, but I’m going to talk to your brother here for a sec and then I’ll take you out for some ice cream. How about that?”

Sam jumped with glee and an excited shout and raced out of the room. 

Dean didn’t want to know what was coming next, especially with the way his father’s muscles tensed with anger as soon as Sam was out the door. 

“Do you have _any_ idea what you’ve done today, Dean?” John’s voice was colder than dry ice, and Dean shivered on the inside. 

“N-no sir. I don’t.” His brain scrambled to think of anything that he had done that would make his father so angry. “I said I was sorry for running into you, dad. I didn’t mean to, I swear it. I just had to really pee.”

His father drew himself up until Dean felt like he was cowering in his shoes. “That’s not what I’m talking about, you worthless klutz! Did you know that we’re not allowed back at Bobby’s house?” 

Dean sucked in a shocked breath, but John plowed ahead, taking an intimidating step forward as Dean stepped back. 

“Bobby said that you imposed on him so much, was being such a greedy, selfish little brat, that he didn’t ever want to see your ugly mug again. And you know what? I don’t blame him one bit. If I could leave your dumb ass behind in some motel room without having the cops chase me down, I would. But even though I can’t stand the sight of your face, you know what I did? I stood up for you. I stood up for your ungrateful little ass so that we wouldn’t lose the one good friend we had. I told Bobby that you were just having a hard time and that you weren’t always such a little bitch, but he wouldn’t have it. He wanted us gone, wanted _you_ gone, and he said if he ever saw our faces again, he’d shoot us with his shotgun. Do you see what you’ve done now, Dean? You messed up everything. You’ve ruined the one good place, the one safe place, that Sammy had in this world. Now I’m going to have to stop hunting as much, I have to let innocent people _die_ so that I can make sure Sam’s safe. And all those lives that are going to be lost because I’m not out there saving them, are going to be on your head, Dean. If you hadn’t screwed up the one good thing in this life that Sammy and I had, those people would be safe and so would your brother.” John was indifferent to Dean’s tears and sobs as he stomped towards the door. He bent down to pick up a duffle and without warning, threw it at Dean, who staggered at the weight and speed of the unexpected burden. “When Sam and I get back, I want every single gun in that bag polished and shined, and if the metal doesn’t gleam, your rear is going to be feeling it.”

The door slammed shut after his father’s retreating back and the rumbling of the Impala followed seconds after. 

Almost thirty seconds went by in the dark motel room before any movement came from the single occupant. Dean’s knees buckled and he fell to the floor, sobs tearing their way out of him with a brutal force. He was shattered on the inside, the weight and cruelty of his father’s words too much for him to carry. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Sorry. So Sorry.” They were words that were sobbed into the foul motel carpet over and over again, his little body rocking with the strength of his cries. He wondered where things could’ve gone so wrong in just a little time, why all of a sudden everyone seemed to be against him, and what he had done to make his father hate him so much. “I’m sorry, Mommy. I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m sorry, Sammy. I’m sorry, Bobby.” 

 

Dean stayed like that for more than half an hour, sobbing his apologies and trying to make sense of what had happened, but his father’s command came to the forefront of his mind and he jumped up in fear to do as was ordered before they came back. He didn’t know how long his father planned to keep Sammy out, and he prayed that his tears wouldn’t slow him down while cleaning the guns. 

Dean didn’t have to worry about the guns, though, because John and Sam didn’t come home that night. 

Dean spent the first half of the night at the table, rubbing his fingers raw trying to get guns that were older than he was to look brand new again with just spit and an old oil rag. The other half was spent in hunger because he hadn’t eaten since the small breakfast they’d had at Bobby’s that morning, anxiety because his father and brother still weren’t back, and fear because his father had said that the only thing keeping him from leaving Dean was the cops and what if the events at Bobby’s had finally pushed John that extra inch and made him forget about the cops finding out, figuring that leaving Dean was worth having to lay low and out of sight for awhile. 

Dean didn’t sleep at all that night and if anybody had been there with the child during those torturous hours they would’ve known that he had cried himself to the point of dehydration, had apologized and pleaded to an empty motel room until his voice was hoarse and almost nonexistent, and had barely kept nine panic attacks at bay, failing twice and almost falling unconscious after not being able to bring himself back down after the second one.

Dean spent the night in fear, abandonment, and emotional pain. Sam and John spent the night in joy, happiness, and carefree relaxation. 

 


	5. Chapter 4.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here I am trying to write chapter 5 when all of a sudden I get hit by inspiration so hard I start shaking. So. Things are going to be taking a little different direction than I thought they would, but if this whole 'inspiration' thing goes the way I'm praying it does, then the story will still be the mostly the same with just a different setup.  
> Before any of you get your hopes up or scream and yell at me for being a terrible person I wanted to tell you that this is sort of a 'half chapter' and it is EXTREMELY short, but don't worry. I'm doing my best to bring up the next full chapter in the next few days so that I'm on schedule with posting.  
> Hope you all like the way this is going and continue reading! Kudos and comments make me grin and blush like a fool! :)  
> (P.S. If you guys think I'm doing a terrible job with the upcoming entries, please tell me so that I can go back to writing the way I have been. This is strictly an experiment with a new writing style and any type of feedback regarding how you like it-or don't- would be wonderful. Don't be shy!)

**July 28, 1986.**

It was the day that NASA released a transcript from the doomed Challenger. It was the day that Michael Smith’s voice could be heard saying “Uh-oh!” as the spacecraft he was piloting disintegrated. It was the day that Jill Trenary won gold in the U.S. Olympic Festival women’s figure skating after being told that she wouldn’t be able to walk on a leg that had been shredded in an unfortunate skating accident. It wasn’t a day that would be remembered by most as outstanding or world-shaking, many didn’t remember it at all, but it was a day that would be forever etched into a young child’s heart. It was the day that Dean Winchester’s world crashed down around him as he was left in a ratty motel room with a father’s threat ringing in his ears and knowledge that he had just ruined a friendship with a man that he loved and trusted almost as much as his brother and father. It was the first day of a five-year time period that a seven-year-old would name ‘After’ just so that he would remember that there _was_ a ‘Before’, and that it was a time when there were happy memories and family, not just failure, pain, and darkness. 

~~~

He’s not sure exactly when or where or even how he acquired the small leather journal, but he does know that it’s been his saving grace one way or another. If it hadn’t been for that little moleskin, he’s sure he wouldn’t have had the willpower to continue on in a world with no light at the end of the tunnel. Through the years it’s held his thoughts, his wishes, his apologies, his goodbyes, his memories…sometimes he thinks more of him is in that book than there is left in his own body. 

The journal’s sat strong and steady while everything around him was in chaos and he will forever be grateful for the circumstances that put the book into his hands, even if he can’t quite remember them. 

 


	6. Knowledge is Power in the Eyes of the Beholder...Or Withholder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a liar. A dirty liar. I promised a better and longer chapter and I gave you this a few days after my deadline. Boo. But I do have an excuse this time, even if it is sorta lame. Where I'm from there was a big college football rivalry game and pretty much the entire state was fighting and taunting for a full week over who was going to win it. Then when the game actually started there were big parties and tailgating for the entire day on top of a Town and Country's festival that my itty bitty backcountry town was holding. It was a big thing ok. So. There's my excuse, sorry for those that believe it to be extremely lame, but I honestly didn't have the time to sit down and write with the chaos going on all over town and in my own yard.  
> Remember that I am trying something new with my writing and I do not have the mind of a seven year old and I am a grammar and spelling nazi, so don't be too mean when critiquing the chapter! (That doesn't mean don't nitpick though. ;) Those types of comments are ALWAYS welcomed along with all those lovely comments that I've been getting!)  
> !WARNING!~ This chapter has mentions of child spanking but does not pertain in a sexual way. You've been warned.

_ August 4, 1986 _

_ Daddy didn’t come home for two whole days. I was scared. I thought that he had took Sammy and left, but he didn’t. When they got back I didn’t feel too good. My tummy and head hurt and my eyes were scratchy, but when I told daddy he just said that I was being a baby and it was probably from all my crying. Sammy was in a good mood, but I think that was because Daddy took him to an amusement park and he got to go on all the rides. I was a little mad that Sammy got to go do all those fun things while I had to stay at the motel all alone for two days, but when Daddy overheard me telling Sam to not rub it in because it was unfair Daddy spanked me and said that Sammy got to do those things because he had been a good boy. He told me that I was being naughty and that I needed to be punished. I knew that he was right, I made Bobby hate us, after all, so I tried my best not to cry when he took me over his knee, but I couldn’t stop a few tears. When he was done he didn’t say anything but the look on he still looked mad after, so I went to the chair in the corner and sat down, even though it hurt really badly.  _

_ That was a couple of days ago. My backside is still sore from the spanking but I don’t really pay attention to it. Dad’s been really angry lately, and he yells a lot. Mostly at me. I’ve tried to tell him that I am sorry for everything but that just seems to make him madder, so I mostly just stay out of his way and make sure that Sam isn’t doing anything that he shouldn’t be. It isn’t too hard when Dad spends most of his time with Sammy. It makes me sad to see Daddy and Sammy having such a good time all the time, but I know I ruined everything and Daddy’s just trying to keep Sammy happy so he doesn’t cry all the time. I miss Mommy. And I miss Uncle Bobby, but that’s just between the two of us. Daddy says that missing people is stupid because it doesn’t bring them back. I think that’s silly, though, because he misses Mommy, doesn't he? He has too. I know it.   _

_ P.S. I like writing, but I don’t know if I’m any good at it. My last teacher, Mrs. Bradley, says I was ‘troubled’, whatever that means, but I don’t think she thought I was a very good learner. I didn’t really like her very much. She only chose the cool kids for things and made the rest of us feel dumb. I’m going to try to do this to show her that I can too do school stuff just as good as the cool kids.  _

_ (Don’t tell anyone, but I stuck my bad finger up at her when she wasn’t looking. I don’t know for sure what it means but all the big kids in my school giggle and laugh when someone does it and I’ve seen them get in trouble for it too, so it must not be a good thing to do. Plus, I saw Dad put it up at a mean guy that cut us off on the road one time. I think it means that you’re not happy with that person, but I’m not real sure.I’ll have to ask some of the big kids at my next school.) _

_ D.W.  _

 

Dean only had limited knowledge and it was knowledge that was tampered by unhesitating trust, honest innocence, and youth. 

It was those around him that had the upper hand. It was those around him that chose to keep most knowledge from him while stretching the other stated facts until it wasn’t really knowledge anymore, it was a lie. It was how Dean learned that he had somehow ruined the Winchester family’s relationship with their one and only close friend Bobby Singer. It was how he learned that if he did something marginally wrong he would be severely punished for it, but for whatever wrongdoings his brother did, there would be no consequences. It was also how he learned that the previous knowledge was correct and it was how things were for older and younger brothers all around the world. With such a limited input of knowledge or resource to acquire more, he had no way of knowing, of understanding, that things were not as they should be. Sure he knew that things were skewed from what they had been before,- before they had left Bobby’s house before John had come back from a hunt injured and grouchy, before even their mother had died- but he couldn’t stop and say that things were wrong. He couldn’t stop to say that things weren’t right with their family, more than usual, because if he did he’d be reprimanded until it was in his head that his superiors knew more, would _always_ know more, and the way things were right now, were the way things should be. 

It was like giving a rat two choices: a cookie or a carrot.If he went for a cookie he was shocked with electrical currents. If he went for a carrot he was reprieved from any pain and got the food free of suffering. Eventually, the rat’s going to realize that the cookie isn’t worth the pain it takes to acquire it and go straight for the carrot. 

Dean knew his brother and he knew his father. He also knew enough about hunting to make him feel comfortable with the subject. It suited him just fine to not know anything else if his father deemed it unnecessary. 

 

_ August 12, 1986 _

_ I’m pretty sure I started school around this time last year, but Daddy says we don’t have time for school. He says that it’s too dangerous and he needs me to stay and protect Sammy when he’s out saving people . I don’t want Sammy or my dad to get hurt, so I don’t really mind. Plus other people are getting saved, and the more people that Dad saves, the less ghosts I’ll have to worry about haunting me later on. It feels nice to finally be doing something that makes Dad smile instead of yell. And it feels really good to play with Sam and make him laugh.  _

_ Dad left for a couple of hours yesterday and came back all bloody. I tried to help him but he justshook me off and told me that he was fine. I followed him to the bathroom but he slapped me across the face and then went into the bathroom. He hit me for the first time ever in my life, and it wasn’t a spanking. My cheek hurt really badly and there was a big red mark. I didn’t know why he hit me. I don’t think I did anything wrong. Dad usually has me help him when he’s hurt but this time he must’ve been in too bad of a mood or something. After that, I waited for him to come out of the bathroom and played with Sam to make sure that he didn’t make Dad any more mad. He came out after a long time but he was clean so I knew he was going to be ok if he was hurt. He didn’t look at me but he called Sammy and they both left for a couple of hours again. Every time they come back Sam’s all hyper and jittery but Dad says it’s just because he ate a lot of candy or soda or sometimes even ice cream and the sugar gets to his little body. I'm getting really jealous when they go out together but I realized that they only go out when I’ve been naughty, so I’ve been doing everything I can to not be naughty anymore. It’s worked so far, but I don’t know how long it’s going to last. I guess I just got to get used to it.  _

_ D.W. _

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! Please tell me what you liked or didn't like about the story below in the comments section! Feedback is greatly appreciated! I know that the journal entries are a little sketchy and not as well written as they should be. (meaning more grammatical errors and spelling errors like a normal 'troubled' seven year old would have) But as much as I tried, I could not physically make myself write words purposefully wrong. It's like a level of OCD with me and seeing those red lines underneath my words.  
> Action to start coming soon so stick in there with me!


	7. A Lesson In Pop Culture Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah for a longer chapter! :D A HUGE shoutout to Maleya, Ruthanne, sparklybutterfly42, and angels_rdvd64 for leaving all your wonderful comments from the earlier 'chapter'!!! I tried my best to incorporate a little bit of everything that you guys had said into this new chapter and I wanted to thank all of you so much!! Your comments gave me such a boost past my writers block that I've been writing for like the past four days straight! It was wonderful and I just hope you guys like the new chapter!  
> Thanks again to all of those that are reading, new and old, you guys are the bomb! Comments and likes are much appreciated! ;)
> 
> !Warning!~The following chapters have derogatory comments directed towards minors and there are going to be scenes of violence and abuse further into the coming chapters. If you had read the tags then you would've already known that and then I'm sure you would've decided if this was really a story for you, if you didn't then I'm not really sure what you're doing with your life. (I'm absolutely joking, because I don't have a clue what I'm doing with my life either. ;) Read at your own discretion.

_September 17, 1986_

_Dad told me today that he was going to bring me along on a hunt that he was leaving for tomorrow. I’m so excited. Even though I’ve been training more every day since Bobby’s house, I haven’t actually gotten to go on a hunt with my dad. Normally if I asked him on a good day if he was going to take me hunting he’d tell me that I needed to stay and watch out for Sam so nothing could get him, but if I asked on a bad day he would usually yell at me and call me names or just hit me until he thought I knew that I wasn’t needed. I stopped asking when he never said yes. It hurt too much and it was easier to stay back until he talked to me._

_It used to make me cry whenever he yelled at me and called me bad names, but then I only cried when he would hit me because it scared me and it hurt bad. Now I barely cry at all. He doesn’t like it very much if I cry so I only cry in the shower if it the pain gets too bad. That’s normally when I wish that Mommy was still here. Sometimes the names that he calls me hurt as bad as the beatings. Ms. Harrison was wrong when she said that sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me. That’s why I don’t want to go back to school. They’re all liars and meany pants there. And cause Dad said it’s stupid to go since I’m going to be a hunter and they don’t teach you hunter things in normal school._

_It’s late right now, and Sammy and Daddy are both asleep in the other room, but I’m too excited about tomorrow to go to sleep. Dad said someone was going to come out and help him with the hunt. I want to know who it is! Dad doesn’t go out with other hunters or talk to as many people as he used to do, so I thought that he might’ve lost all his friend’s because of what I did at Bobby's. I’m happy that there’s still someone out there that will help Dad even with me around, though._

_I want to cry and scream and jump and dance and sing. I’m shaking I’m so excited and happy._

_Sam has to stay at some lady’s house while we hunt. I don't know her and she looked kinda mean when we went to talk to her this evening, but Sam ran up to her and gave her a big hug as soon as we got to her house, so he must know her pretty good. I”m pretty sure that’s where they go when they leave the motel room for longer than half a day. I didn’t put too much of a fuss up since Dad seemed to like and trust her too._

_With Sam going to the creepy lady’s house tomorrow, it’ll be the first time since Bobby’s that me and my dad’ll be all alone together for more than a few minutes. I’m kinda scared that he’ll get mad and yell or hit me, but mostly I can’t wait to try and show him that I’m good enough to help him._

_I should probably go to bed now. Dad said that we were going to leave early tomorrow morning to go grab the new hunter and to do some research at the library before we dropped Sam off and headed to the woods. I wanted to write everything down now so that I can have space to write all about the hunt when we get back. I better go to bed. Night!_

_D.W._

 

The next morning went off without a hitch. John was in a decent mood, Sam was excited to spend the weekend with someone other than his father and brother, and Dean was just plain excited to be doing something with his father that didn’t involve watching his little brother. 

Around 10 that morning, John pulled into a motel that was only marginally better kept than the one that they were currently residing in. He didn’t say anything as he got out, so Dean took that as his cue and bustled Sam out along with him. They stood in front of the door for a full minute after John had knocked a pattern into the wood before locks could be heard jangling.

Dean held his breath as he saw the door crack open, expecting a grizzled old face to be behind the barrier, but he was pleasantly surprised to see that the man that opened the door couldn’t’ve been older than 25. 

“Winchester! You’re early.” The young hunter gave John a disapproving look while his voice was still hoarse with sleep. 

“The day’s almost half over there, Reeves. Some of us actually get up before noon in this country. Crazy, isn’t it?”  Dean’s eyes widened as he heard his dad actually grunt what sounded like his first real laugh in months. 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Some of us haven’t given up on our beauty sleep just yet, old man. Just get your wrinkled ass in here. You’re lettin’ all the warm air out.” The man then disappeared into the room with a chuckling John following close behind. 

As Dean watched Sam walk into the room as well, he didn’t know what to think. He was pretty sure that his dad had never mentioned a young hunter before but the way the two of them acted, it was like they’d known each other for years. Dean jumped with excitement once more at realizing that the hunt might’ve just gotten a little more fun. 

Dean had to stop and let his eyes adjust to the dark room as soon as he shut the door, but once he did, he almost burst out laughing. When his father had made fun of the man for waking up late, he wasn’t kidding. Reeves had the messiest head of hair Dean had seen since Sam’s terrible hair day of ’85. He was still in what looked like his pj's, which entailed an old Lynyrd Skynyrd band t-shirt, some ratty Star Wars flannel bottoms, and no socks. The mattress was bare, and pointed to the fact that the man was a crazy sleeper, because all of the bedding was strewn across the floor. He saw a stack of movies lying near the t.v. as well as an old PlayStation next to an open duffle that was filled to the brim with games.

Dean automatically knew that he would like this man more than he already did when he saw candy wrappers and Monster cans littering the floor instead of cigarette butts and beer bottles like some of the other hunters that John normally affiliated himself with. He was brought back to the present when the guy slammed the mini fridge shut with a thud. 

“Hey, Johnny. You want anything man? I got a few beers left if you take the ‘it’s five o’clock somewhere' rule seriously.”

Dean watched as his dad nodded without hesitation and then catch a flying bottle that came sailing out of nowhere. “Thanks, Caleb.”

Caleb could only be heard grunting an affirmative before he was back digging through first the fridge and then a duffle bag. When he straightened Dean saw that he carried two Gatorades and a couple granola bars in his hands. “Sorry, I don’t have much, boys. I had a party for one the other day and ate all the good stuff while trying to beat Mario Kart. This’ll have to do for now.”

Sam’s eyes lit up at the treats and greedily grabbed for them. Dean was a little more reserved and quietly took the food out of Caleb’s hand with a heartfelt thanks. 

Caleb yawned a bit into his hand and ran a hand through his messy hair. “No problem, kiddo. You ever need some kind of food, movie, or game, you come to me. I’ll get ya covered.” 

John stood up then, drawing all three pairs of eyes towards him. “I’m sure you could help him Caleb, but the boy doesn’t have time for stupid things like that. He’s already struggling enough with taking care of his brother, he doesn’t need any distractions.”

Caleb feigned nonchalance at the rough words, shrugged his shoulders, and turned away from the group, but he never took his eye off of Dean. Instead he watched as the boy retreated inside himself like a turtle. It was like the man had physically hit the kid the way he was acting. He mentally categorized it inside his head before grabbing some clothes from his duffle. “Well old man, I’m heading to shower. Don’t touch anything that isn’t a weapon or that was made after your generation. I don’t want you breaking anything.” Before shutting the door behind him he called into the room. “And boys! That rule doesn’t pertain to you guys. Have a go at the playstation or the movies. Just be careful that you don’t save anything. I’m out of storage and if I find that one of my saved games were lost I might have to beat you!”

Unfortunately for Caleb, he hadn’t been able to see how the color had drained from Dean’s face at the word ‘beat’, nor had he seen how badly the boy had flinched when he had shut the door a little harder than was really necessary.

John, however, did notice, and he was on his feet and in Dean’s face within seconds. “Stop being such a little pussy, boy. He’s the only person that Sammy and I’ve got left that will actually talk to us, so you better not fuck it up. You be any more pathetic than you already are, you and I are going to have problems. So suck it up you little cocksucker.” And just like that he was gone, sitting back in his chair, coffee in hand and looking for all the world like he hadn’t just ripped his son’s heart out with his bare hand. 

Twenty minutes later Caleb stepped into his room fully refreshed and ready to face the day. He had to stop and stare when he came out of the door and saw Sam 'trying' to play the playstation, though. It wouldn’t have been too odd of a scene had Dean been sitting there with him, but as it was, Dean was sitting in the corner nearest the door, face devoid of any emotion and body straight as a piece of wood. Caleb looked to John for an answer but John didn’t even look up from the newspaper he was reading. 

“Soo..uh, we ready to go?” 

Dean was the only one to give Caleb any kind of answer, and it wasn’t one he was too happy to say he got considering the boy had almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of Caleb’s voice. 

Sam remained oblivious to anything that was going on outside of the video game he was engrossed in and John continued to read the newspaper. 

“Yo Johnny! You goin deaf in your old age there man?” He took a risk and snapped his fingers in front of John’s face, hoping to all fuck that the bear wouldn’t snap his fingers in half for the motion. Caleb let out a mental sigh of relief when John just folded his newspaper and set it down on the table with a glare sent Caleb’s way. 

“I suggest you don’t do that again kiddo, or I might just bite those pretty fingers of yours right off. “ John smirked evilly as he saw Caleb gulp. “Sam go get in the car. Dean pick up your brother’s mess and then get in with Caleb. I’ll see you both at the library after I drop Sam off Sarah.”

Caleb watched in odd wonderment as Sam disappeared from the room after hijacking Dean’s gatorade without a word and Dean stepped up right away to pick up the mess that Sam had left behind him. “Hey Dean-o. You don’t have to do that man. I’ll get it later. Lord knows I’m a slob as it is, a little more mess won’t bother me.” He said it with a playful smile, expecting the kid to react to his playful manner and leave the mess as it was. He was taken aback when Dean just shrugged his shoulders. 

“It’s ok, sir. My dad says it’s my job to watch out for my brother, and if he makes a mess, his mess is automatically my mess. Besides, it’d be rude to use your stuff and not put it back where we found it.”

Caleb watched suspiciously as Dean picked up Sam’s mess as well as Caleb’s mess that had been made the night before. “Alright, buddy. I think you’ve got it. Let’s go to the library.” 

 

~~~

 

The ride to the library had been silent. And Caleb hated silence. He had tried everything he could to get the child to talk to him, but Dean was locked up tighter than a bank vault. The kid had only uttered four words, ‘No thanks’ and ‘I’m good.’ Caleb had been at a loss for words for most of the ride, so he had ended up just switching the radio on to some mullet rock channel he had found. With the music blaring and Caleb not trying to pry words out of the kid anymore, Dean had seemed to relax substantially. At one point Caleb could’ve sworn he had heard Dean sing some of the lyrics under his breath, but when he looked towards the boy, the sounds had stopped. 

~~~

 

At the library Caleb made sure that Dean was busy with the research before disappearing behind a shelf, phone already out and dialing. 

“Caleb, please tell me you got something.” The voice that answered the phone was desperate and just this side of pleading.

“I got the boy with me right now. John took Sam to someone’s house for the weekend. Dean hasn’t said more than a handful of words to me since we met, though.”

“You think you can sneak him out?”

“I was hoping I’d be able to, but I don’t think it’s possible. So far Dean’s followed everything his father’s said without hesitation. From what I can see of the toddler, he’s a real piece of work. If someone doesn’t change his point of view real quick he’s going to grow up more than a little conceited. John didn’t say or do anything in front of me, but Dean looked a lot more closed off when I came out of the shower, so something could’ve happened then.”

“Christ almighty.” Caleb waited patiently as he heard a loud sigh and he could just imagine that the owner of that sigh was rubbing a hand through their hair and across their face. “Dean didn’t look beat up, did he? Wasn’t walking funny? No bruises? Cuts? Skinny? Sick?” 

Caleb peeked around the corner of the shelf to make sure that Dean was still where he was supposed to be and then spoke into the phone. “He’s a little skinny, not sickly skinny, but just like someone has been stealing his food for their own sake. And I already know the culprit for that one. I gave both Sam and Dean their own gatorades this morning. Sam took off with Dean’s as soon as his own was empty. Never even asked if he could have another one or if he could take Dean’s. In fact, it was like he already thought it was his own. Never once checked behind him to see if Dean would be chasing after him either, which would be the reaction of any normal child if they had just taken something that they knew wasn’t theirs. Dean was walking fine, no bruises that I can see, nor any cuts for that matter, but they could just be hidden. You know how the Winchester’s are. All three of them wear like twenty layers even when they’re in the middle of the damn desert.”

“Yeah, I know. I want you to make damn sure that that boy doesn’t get hurt by John’s hand, alright? Even if that means you have to stay by the kid’s side like your stuck together with glue, I want you to never let him out of your sights. I’m counting on you, Caleb. Please just make sure that kid’s safe.”

“Yeah, Bobby. You got it. I’ll do everything in my power to keep that boy out of harm’s way, and you know I will. I’ll talk to you after we finish the hunt. Try to figure out how you want to do this whole ‘rescue’.”

Caleb nodded in confirmation at the next few words that were said and then he was heading back to the table that Dean was occupying. 

“Hey, kiddo. Whatcha got so far?”

Dean glanced up sheepishly, a little flustered at Caleb’s want to know _his_ opinion. ‘Um. Well. I can’t read all the _big_ words, but I tried my best. I think it is a chupacabra like you guys thought, but it’s not very smart. From what I can get from the newspapers the thing’s been hunting in the daytime, and it’s gotten caught in the act by three out of the five farmers. Two of the farmer’s said that the thing that killing their livestock looked like a creature straight from hell. The third farmer just said that it looked like the ugliest damn dog he’d ever seen. All five of the farmers say that the creature came and killed from 3 to 7 animals but then disappeared without any other type of damage; even when they were startled by the farmers the ‘dog’ never attacked anything but the livestock.”

Caleb eyed the boy with awe. “Well hot dang, kiddo! You just took my job away!” 

Dean paled slightly and dropped his gaze. “S-sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to. I’ll stop.”

The older hunter frowned. “Dean, it’s okay buddy. I was just jokin’ with ya. You’ve done a great job! Almost better than anything I could’ve done!”

Dean looked up shyly at the older man and relaxed marginally. “You really mean it?”

Caleb’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled wide. “You betcha!”

Caleb watched with happiness as a small smile graced Dean’s face. Caleb grinned and pulled up a chair beside the boy. 

After ten minutes of companionable research, Dean came out of nowhere and asked Caleb about his movie and game choices that he had seen in Caleb’s room. The two young hunters started a mock argument about whether or not Harrison Ford was a better Indiana Jones or a Han Solo.

Caleb was astounded at the young man’s knowledge of old movies, and he loved every second of the ‘geek’ talk. Never had he ever had such an animated, intelligent, and two-sided discussion about Star Wars and Indiana Jones in his entire life. Every other hunter that he’d ever talked to had been above the age of twenty-five and had already bought into the mentality that being a hunter meant not having any fun. 

It was refreshing.

They finally ended their discussions when John showed up ready to get the hunt going. Even when Dean had shut down in front of John again, Caleb felt safe saying that he had finally broken through the invisible barrier that Dean had cocooned himself within .

The hunter had faith that their plan to rescue the child was going to be a success, and he was anxious for another chance to be with Dean alone so that he could tell the boy that he wouldn't have to suffer for very much longer. 

 


	8. A Lesson In Pop Culture Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god guys, I'm SO SORRY! Where did the f*ing time go?! Sooo so sorry it took so long update. I've been in kind of a funk and it didn't even register that it had been more than a month since I'd updated. That and the fact that I didn't know how to start the chapter. Gah. This is a little long and it's been split up again so there's essentially going to be three parts to 'A Lesson In Pop Culture' and I hope that makes up a little bit for the long wait.  
> Kudos and comments make things so much better, even if it's to tell me that I suck. ;) So don't hold back!  
> Now to the part that you've all been waiting for for eternity. :/  
> ~WARNING~ This chapter includes some LGBT bashing, graphic descriptions of wounds, explicit language, and degrading comments made towards a minor. Read at your own discretion.  
> (P.S. I fully support all LGBT rights and equality, which is kinda why I wanted Caleb to be the free-spirited person that he is, even if John isn't. I had a very limited amount of time to research and the stuff that I came up with said that homosexuality wasn't completely uncommon and forbidden and I know I didn't go into it as far as I should've, but just imagine that being gay was at least a little more accepted than it probably was in the late 80's. ;) It might actually end up being a key part of the coming story, so please refrain from giving me a history lesson until after this is over. :) I know I'm terrible at these things.)

When Caleb looked out the window and saw a large storm cloud hanging above the Impala’s roof, ominous flashes of lightning and all, he almost laughed out loud at the cliche-cheesy-horror-movie atmosphere that was surrounding them. 

Not only were they driving into a forest in the middle of the night to confront a real live ‘monster’, but they were also driving silent in a car with nothing but static coming from the radio to keep them company. The storm just put the cherry on top.

The silence, though, is what stopped him from saying a joke thathe would’ve said in any other circumstances.

Despite a certain naysayer (Bobby Singer) calling him blind to anything other than monsters, men (or women), good movies, and guns, Caleb could feel the underlying tension residing in the car as they drove… and call him a physic wonder for picking up all the feelings in the room, but he could also feel the overhanging threat surrounding the man in the driver’s seat and the faint feeling of fear coming from the boy in the back. 

Caleb didn’t know what exactly happened to the once energetic child and once trustworthy and loyal father that Bobby had described to him when sending him on this case, but he knew that whatever it had been, its lasting effects could be more than he could fix.

~~~

They pulled off onto a road maintenance trail, drove about thirty more yards, enough to keep the Impala out of the immediate line of sight, and then all three of them silently climbed out of the car. 

Caleb stretched his arms above his head, wincing as his back and neck popped multiple times and then walked around the side of the old classic to where the rest of his team was. “You guys ready to gank some nasty chupacabra ass?” 

Dean smirked slightly from his position behind John but didn’t say anything. John sent him an annoyed glare and popped the trunk. “Let’s just get this over with, Caleb. No funny games.”

Caleb defensively put a hand on his chest. “ _Me?!_ Why I would never!” He winked at Dean behind John’s back and got a mischievous grin back.

“Of course you wouldn’t, _Funny Man,_ how could I ever have thought that you would joke around?”

Caleb ducked his head and went slightly red at the nickname that a good portion of the hunters called him. “You caught me.”

John pushed a shotgun into his hands with a small victorious smirk. “That’s what I thought. Caleb, you follow me, Dean bring up the rear for Caleb.”

Caleb took the gun but hesitated. “I..uh..Is that the best course of action, John? I mean the kid’s only what, 7? 8? I don’t know if that’s really a good idea. Chupacabras are nasty sons of bitches.”

John whirled around with such force and with such a vicious look on his face, Caleb involuntarily backed up a step. “You got a problem, son? I run the show around here, and **_I_** say this is how things are going to be. If you want to keep that pretty face of yours pretty, I suggest that you don’t say another goddamned word unless you know where the bastard is or that you’ve gone and killed the son of a bitch. Am I clear, soldier?”

Caleb found himself nodding without thinking. 

John’s eyes flashed briefly and then he was focusing on Dean, who was cowering beside the car’s trunk. “Apparently Caleb already knows you’re a fuck up, and because of your incompetence, he’s questioning my orders. If you mess up one more thing on this goddamned hunt I swear to God you will wish you’d’ve never gotten out of bed this morning. Do you understand?” When John received a shaky nod, he shoved his finger into the boy’s chest. “You’re going to bring up the rear. If I hear so much as one little peep from you, you’re dead. And for god's sake watch where you point the gun. Caleb nor I want to get shot today. Keep up with our pace and Don’t. Mess. Up.” 

Caleb could only stand rooted next to Dean as John disappeared into the trees. He turned his head slightly to gauge Dean’s stability and emotions, but the young boy looked almost like he had just talked to his father about the upcoming storm and was already reaching into the Impala for his own weapon. 

“Dean-o, what he said wasn’t true. At all. You know that right?” 

Dean glanced up with disinterest and then turned to follow his father. “You don’t have to lie to me, Caleb. I know that I’ve messed up and it’s my fault. It’s okay. I promise that I won’t put you in danger. I’ll have your back.” 

Caleb could’ve cried at the child’s words, words that were spoken with conviction and acceptance but had an underlying tone of hurt and shame. 

“Dean…” He tried to comfort the hurting boy, but he was already gone, waiting at the tree line for Caleb to follow his father.

Before he followed the bastard named John, he discreetly looked at the young kid in front of him and whispered under his breath, “I’m going to fix this, Dean. I swear to you I will.” 

~~~

Caleb and Dean had caught up to John about five minutes into their walk, which wasnow closely closing in on the three-hour mark. Dean and Caleb had both followed John’s rule and neither had let so much as a sigh pass their lips, but having not seen hide nor hair of the thing they were after was starting to visibly take its toll on the eldest Winchester and both of his followers were starting to worry that a breakdown was imminent. 

Their instincts were right, as the kettle finally blew its top not even three minutes later.

“Goddamn motherfucking son of a bitch! Where is that goddamn maggot muncher hiding?! I don’t have all fucking goddamn night for this shit!” 

Caleb rubbed his hand over his face. John was being loud enough that Caleb knew whatever precarious element of surprise they had before his outburst was now shot straight outof the water. An eighty-some grandma without hearing aids in could’ve heard the oldest Winchester’s rant three miles out, no problem.

“John. Take a breather, man. Shouting ain’t gonna do us a lick of good. If it was around here, you probably just scared the damn thing off.” 

Caleb pondered if he had possibly stepped over some invisible line when he heard a sharp intake of breath come from Dean.

John ran a hand through his disheveled head of hair and turned slowly around. “What did you just say you little faggot? Didn’t I specifically tell you and worthless over there not to say one goddamned word unless you saw the damn thing?”

Caleb’s brow furrowed. “Wait just a goddamn minute. Did I just hear you call me a faggot?”

John glared at Caleb. “Yeah I did, Reeves. We all know that you like to take it up the ass more than you like to shove it in some girl. That classifies you as a grade A _faggot._ ” 

Caleb’s anger went up another notch. “So what I like guys? I’m fucking bisexual you dickwad! Open your mind up a little you fucking bigot! It’s the 20th fucking century!”

Caleb never got the chance to brace before John’s fist was slammed into his cheek. “Agh!” Caleb spit out blood from where he had bitten his tongue and his split lip. “You fucking bastard!”

Both men’s tempers flared and they met each other in the middle, fists and insults flying. In their midst of chaos, they never heard Dean’s shout of warning…or the following three. Instead, their attention was whipped back when the sound of a shotgun sounded right next to them, and the howling of an unnatural beast was heard following the gun. 

“What the hell?” Caleb’s left eye was rapidly swelling shut because of John’s fist, but he could just barely make out a ball of nasty heading straight for him and John. 

Caleb fumbled desperately for the gun that he didn’t have and then braced himself for the pain of the beast’s claws when he realized he wasn’t going to have time to do anything.

John reached into his waistband for his handgun but cursed a blue streak when he realized that it had been knocked loose in their battle. 

Both men were royally fucked, and they both knew it with no uncertainty.

A shot rang out, echoing off of the trees.

Dean’s shot wasn’t fatal, barely glancing off the barreling creature’s right flank, but it gave Dean enough time to jump the few feet in between the chupacabra and his father and Caleb. 

Dean never felt the hind legs of the creature shredding through the soft skin of his stomach, as the legs had hit his body second, but in high-definition he felt razor-sharp teeth that were built for tearing and shredding the meat of prey, rip into the junction where his shoulder met his throat. Everything whited out at the first contact of fangs through flesh and the only thing he was aware of was the _wronghurtswrongpain_ feel of incisors splintering through his collarboneand the rawness of his throat that he realized must’ve been him screaming, until even those faded away to be replaced by blackness so thick it felt like he was drowning in it. 

~~~

It had all happened fast motion. One moment Caleb was a seething mass of bubbling anger ready to shoot the man in front of him for dare saying that he was anything less than a man for who he chose to love, and the next he was cradling said man’s son in his arms, willing the blood to stop flooding out of his young body. 

Caleb knew that he needed to get his emotions under control, that he needed to see Dean as any other hunter in need of medical help, but he couldn’t focus, too caught in the mantra of _failedcouldn’tsavehimtoolate_ and _Bobby’sgoingtokillme._ He was only pulled out of his hysterics when three shots rang out next them. 

He turned his attention back to the unconscious child before him, backing away slightly, thinking that the boy’s father would just push him out of the way anyways to check on his son, but Caleb was shocked to see John calmly digging through his pack for a lighter and then went about picking up sticks and brush. 

“JOHN! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE! IT’S BAD, MAN. I NEED HELP!”

Caleb was horrified as he watched John light the corpse on fire and then sit back against a tree, looking for all the world like he had nowhere to be and nothing to do. “JOHN! YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” John waved his hand dismissively in Caleb’s direction. Caleb was about to scream at the bastard but his attention was snapped back to his lap when a whimper signaled the boy’s painful return to consciousness. 

“Take it easy, Dean. You’re hurt real bad and I need you to stay calm, okay?” Caleb’s voice was tight with emotion, but his hunter instincts were starting to become dominate and his hand wasn’t shaking as much as it guided the child’s head to look at him. 

“Hrrrsss.” Dean’s eyes were glazed and at half-mast and his voice was a reed-thin whisper.

Caleb wiped a tear from the corner of Dean’s eye. “Shhh. I know it does, Dean. I’m sorry. It’ll be ok. Just stay with me okay? Just focus on my voice, buddy.”

Caleb knew they were running out of time when the only thing he got from the injured boy was a shallow nod. He threw a disgusted glance towards John and then he was throwing open their med-kit and focusing entirely on keeping Dean alive. 

“Okay, buddy. This is going to hurt but it needs to be done.” The sound that emitted from the young boy beneath him at the pressure of hands on his neck broke Caleb’s heart. “I know. God, I know. I’m so sorry. I gotcha, Dean.”

With pressure now at Dean’s neck helping keep some of the needed red liquid inside his body, Caleb was able to focus on the more pressing, middle half of the boy, and by God was it a more pressing matter. 

Caleb put the back of his hand to his mouth to keep from gagging at the sight. 

Dean’s innards were now his outtards; The soft skin that had originally kept everything where it belonged, was shredded to pieces, revealing tattered muscles and inner organs. The thin tissues of his intestines were glistening red and slimy in the waning moonlight, a picture straight out of Caleb’s worst nightmares. Blood slicked everything and was still steadily streaming out of the wounds to pool into whatever crevice it encountered, making the terrifying sight that much more gruesome. 

Caleb realized with a dawning sense of failure that he was too late. The wounds were far too extensive to treat in the middle of nowhere with the insufficient amount of supplies they had and Caleb’s medical expertise didn’t cover the amount needed to save the boy. Even if Caleb had known what to do, moving Dean back the ten or so miles that they had walked from the Impala was going to be slow and painful for everyone involved, add that to the fact that they were still thirty minutes from the nearest town after hitting the highway and you’ve just got one fucked up, deadly situation. 

Dean was dying and there was nothing Caleb could do to stop it. 

The desperation that had been fueling his movements when trying to help the injured child was now leeching out of him, leaving him drained and exhausted. He covered Dean’smangled stomach with a blanket from his pack and then shifted himself so that he was leaning comfortably against a tree and Dean was lying in his lap. He ran a hand through the young hunter’s blood and dirt crusted hair and swallowed a sob. “God, Dean. I’m so sorry. So goddamned sorry, buddy.” He swiped a lone tear from his face and slammed his head into the tree holding him up. 

 

~~~

 

The crackle and pop of the burning corpse were the only sounds to be heard in the clearing for a good fifteen minutes, even the rumbling storm receding off into the distant.  

Caleb was pulled out of his fugue when the body in his lap shifted and started to shake.

“Easy, deuce. I’m right here. I gotcha.” 

Dean started to consciousness with a jolt and a whimper, eyes glassy and tear-filled. “C-Cal’b?”

The older hunter ran a soothing hand down the side of Dean’s face. “Yeah, bud. It’s me.”

Dean’s eyes glazed over and focused on a spot in the distance. Caleb was afraid that he had lost Dean to the pull of unconsciousness again when Dean’s eyes suddenly snapped back into focus. “W-wh’t h’pp’d?” 

Caleb took a deep breath in and then let it out slowly. “It..It was a Chupacabra. Got you pretty good, but you’re a real hero. The new Batman. You saved both your daddy and I.” Caleb waited to see if the kid was following what he was saying before adding, “D-don’t move, okay bud? I don’t want you to move.”

Dean nodded feebly, face going whiter at the pain than it had been before and then focused on the figure of his father still lounging next to the fire. He stuck a quivering hand out as if reaching for the man. “D-d’ddy. Want d’ddy.”

Caleb nor Dean was prepared for the swiftness that John descended upon them with. One second he was on the other end of the clearing, staring into the glowing embers, the next he’s towering over the both of them, face an unreadable mask. 

John kneeled in front of his son, hand coming to rest against the boy’s cheek. “What’d you just call me?”  

Dean leaned into the comforting touch of his father’s hand with a sigh. “D’ddy.”

Caleb was more than a little weary of the older man’s words and actions, but nothing could’ve prepared him for what happened after Dean answered.

Without warning, Caleb was thrown against a tree opposite of where he had been sitting with Dean. He struggled to free himself, vision swimming with the knock to his head, but invisible bonds refused to lessen their hold on him. His heart shattered into pieces when his focus was pulled back to the two Winchesters by a guttural ear-piercing scream from the youngest. 

At first Caleb stupidly thought that maybe the motion of Caleb being ripped out from beneath Dean’s battered body had made the child hyper aware of his injuries and the pain was just too intense to keep inside any longer but then Caleb was horrified to see that that wasn’t the reason for the pain filled outburst at all. 

John was leaning over Dean’s body, mouth inches from the boy’s ear, a hateful sneer gracing his face, lips pulled back in a snarl as he spat words into the body’s face beneath him. And the worst of it all? John was elbow deep in Dean’s slashed stomach, organs bulging up and out in a macabre fashion to accommodate a piece of anatomy that was not meant to be apart.

Caleb struggled and pushed, fighting without abandon to help the suffering child. He screamed and he yelled at the monster with John’s face to leave Dean alone until his voice was hoarse and he was struggling to catch a breath. He fought for all he was worth, but to no avail. He was helpless to the ghastly scene that was unfolding right before his eyes. 

 

Dean had never before felt such pain. 

When he had first woken up cradled in Caleb’s lap, he had been surprisingly numb to all things, only feeling the ache and fire in his neck when he tried to talk. He knew that he was delusional, he had to be. He knew where the thing had gotten him second, he could feel that something was definitely wrong when he shifted marginally and he felt a tugging and a _slipslideslosh_ that most assuredly was wrong to be apart of his midsection, but the pain was missing. It was as if he was experiencing it from someone else’s body.

That was until his father had shown up. 

He wasn’t sure what exactly he had said, his brain was too fuzzy to understand what he was thinking in his head and what had actually slipped his mouth, but he’s sure that whatever it was it had to’ve been something bad enough to make his father this mad. 

He remembers one moment he was being held by Caleb and leaning into the touch of his father’s hand, comforted by the fact that his dad and Caleb were going to help him, were going to take care of everything, and then Caleb was gone and his father’s hand wasn’t resting against his face, it was resting inside his stomach.

And he screamed. 

The world was reduced to nothing but the fiery _stopgodmakeitstopplease_ white hot pain crawling out through his limbs in a race. 

He knew distantly his father was leering, saying something to him, but he couldn’t focus. His eyes wouldn’t stop rolling around in his head, his body was shaking like he was connected to a live wire, and there was a roaring in his mind that drowned out any and all thought processes. He felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside out with a rusty dagger made of fire and ice. He wanted to escape, to go back to being numb like he was in Caleb’s lap, but something was stopping him. Making him endure this excruciating torture over and over again. God, he just wanted it to stop. 

It wasn’t God who answered his prayer, but his father. 

As if able to read Dean’s desperate thoughts, John’s arm was slowly removed from amongst Dean’s organs with a sickening squelch. The pain lessened a fraction, just enough to allow Dean to focus on his father’s cutting words.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, you little maggot? Calling **me** _daddy_. I. Am. Not. You’re. Father. And I feel damn sorry for the unlucky bastard that had to share his DNA with such a disgusting worthless whelp as yourself. You’re nothing but a replaceable babysitter for me, Dean. You’re nothing to me, and you’re nothing to Sam. Sam’s my good boy, a child prodigy destined for great things. He’s going places, places none else will be able to follow, and you’ll be left to rot in the dust, _Dean._ You’ll be left to waste away like roadkill on the side of the road.” John’s eyes glimmered yellow in the firelight and Dean shut his eyes shut fiercely to block out the hateful mask covering his father’s face. “You repulse me you disgusting animal. I wish you had never been born.” 

Before Dean could even comprehend what was happening and why he could distinctly hear Caleb screaming louder and more desperately than he had been before, a sickening squelch and crunch and Dean found himself staring down at the hilt of his father’s bowie knife sticking out of his chest. 

He looked to his father with confused eyes and puzzlement before the world seemed to catch up with him and he felt the pain of yet another wound, this one splintering his breastbone to pieces. 

He opened his mouth in an endless scream, pain blotting out the world, red, white and black battling for dominance in his line of vision. 

Instead of shouts and agony coming from his open mouth, Dean was terrified to feel the gurgling drowning wetness of blood pooling first at the back of his throat and then bubbling its way up and out over his teeth. He coughed, trying to rid his airways of the suffocating liquid but seized as shockwaves of absolute agony tore through his tortured body. As he choked on his own blood and felt his internal organs slipping around like worms inside and out of him, his last thought before being swallowed by an eternal darkness was, ‘I hope Mommy still loves me, even if nobody else does.’

 


	9. A Lesson In Pop Culture Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final part of 'A Lesson In Pop Culture'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck and I give you all permission to throw rotten tomatoes at me. I am sooooo goddamned sorry. To be honest I really have no excuse except for a bad case of writer's block. I had the beginning and end written but I couldn't figure out the middle.  
> I hope you all had a very Merry Christmas, Happy Thanksgiving, New Year's, and Valentine's Day! I love you all!  
> Now on to something that you'd probably thought was never going to show up...

It was five seconds. Five seconds of complete shock and paralyzation and then it hit Caleb like a goddamned train. 

Dean had stopped breathing. 

Caleb had seen the exact moment that the boy’s chest had fallen and not risen again all the way across from the clearing. And as the wounds weren’t spurting blood like they had been moments before, he could bet that his heart had finally given up the fight as well…and it was all that monster’s fault.

“NOOOOO!!” The anguished cry that was ripped from his throat echoed through the eerily silent forest. “DEAN!! YOU GET AWAY FROM HIM, YOU GODDAMN MONSTER!!” Caleb struggled endlessly against the bonds that were securing him to the tree. He needed to get to John. He needed to tear the man to shreds for what he had done to his little boy. He needed to exact revenge for the little boy that lost his life heroically but was left to endure pain that was atrociously horrid at the hands of the man that was supposed to love him unconditionally. “YOU MOTHERFUCKING BASTARD!! WHAT KIND OF SICK FATHER ARE YOU??!!”

Having been smirking since watching his son take his last breath and grinning madly while listening to the kid’s heart flutter defiantly until finally giving in with a despaired thud, John had been oblivious to the heartbreak and anger that was coming from behind him. He had reveled so entirely in the _limpness_ of Dean’s body when Death had stolen his soul, that he had been indifferent to the damning expletives thrown at his back. But as soon as he heard the younger hunter insinuate that he was of relation to the spoiled pile of shit beneath him, a rage so raw bubbled up from the depths of his twisted soul and escaped him in a murderous roar.

He was upon Caleb before the hunter could even blink. 

“You dare assume that I bred with some _whore_ and got that mangy mutt as my offspring?! He wasn’t my son. My blood only runs true in the veins of Sam. Sam is my offspring. Sam is a child I will proudly claim to be my own. Dean was nothing to me. And it would suit you very well to stop thinking of me as his father.” He grabbed Caleb’s face in a vice-like grip. “That position happens to be taken by the poor, unlucky bastard that is locked away inside his own _meat-suit_ at this very moment.”

Caleb stared in dawning, horror-filled realization as John’s eyes flashed a murderous yellow and stayed like that. “What have you done. GET OUT OF HIM YOU SON OF A BITCH!” 

The thing in John laughed maniacally. “Finally! I can come out from behind this dried up old mask! Do you know how draining it is to hide your true self all the damn time?” The thing pretended to wipe away a tear. “It’s so terrible. Pretending to be this low life, having to be a ‘father’ to that little leech over there, instead of the true me. The all powerful me.” 

Caleb just looked on in barely contained rage. 

The thing looked back, eyes as cold and dark as the deepest pits of Hell. “I have to admit, being the one ripping John’s family apart has been fantastic! I mean it wasn’t like there was much work to do. The guy was a bastard before I showed up, but what I **did** do? Man. I made sure it **_hurt_**. You know. Johnny’s put it into little Deano’s head over there that it’s his top priority to watch out for his brother. I’m mean, it’s nice to know that someone’s watching out so closely for my little boy, but he just screwed himself and his own son over big time!” The demon sneered. “All it took was Dean’s sense of duty and BAM. Tell him he failed and he’s fallen hard. Tell him he’s failed his brother and he’s gone. Sure he’s a resilient son of a bitch. Always trying to make dear old Daddy proud even after ‘Daddy’ makes it clear that he can and will, never be good enough. If I wasn’t already so twisted and heartless, I’d think it’s even a little sad watching how hard the boy tries…” It chuckled gleefully. “But I don’t! I cherish every little tear that boy sheds. I get off on how much pain I can deliberately put him through. Ohh, it’s just plain orgasmic sometimes.”

Caleb swallowed convulsively. It was sickening. Caleb had gone against some many monsters, monsters that feasted on children like they were candy, monsters that ate brains like they were going out of style, monsters that were nightmares literally incarnated, but then there was this…this **thing!** This was something that had once been human, something that had had some type of a conscience, something that had once been called a _someone_.

_It_ continued, oblivious to Caleb’s worsening dread and sickness, and jollily stood and clapped John’s hands together. “Oh, my! Where _are_ my manners?! None if this is probably making a lick of sense to your stupid, human brain, is it? Well. Why don’t I just start from the middle, the part that would interest you? I’ll try to make it quick. It winked, kicked Dean’s torn, bloodied, and broken corpse across the small clearing, landing with a sickening squelch and crunch of bone and organs, and then he sat in the spot that Dean had been moments earlier, completely carefree. 

Caleb let out an anguished cry and sob at the scene, and his anger came back full force. He snarled and growled, snapping and kicking, struggling with all his might to get to the thing before him. His anger only ratcheted up a notch as he watched It pick at its nails with a pocket knife, oblivious and relaxed. 

It sighed, exasperated that Caleb hadn’t given up the struggle after fruitlessly trying for ten minutes. Without even looking up, he started to slowly strangle the hunter. When the blonde finally stopped struggling, It released its hold. “You’re not going anywhere unless I want you to, so you might as well stop now before I get pissed off and decide you're not worth my time to keep alive. Now if you want me to tell you ‘everything’, then I suggest you sit down, shut up, and listen. Now. First things first. Name’s Azazel. Don’t mean to toot my own horn, but I’m pretty damn popular down in the pit. Hmm. Let’s see.” It crossed its arms and put a finger on his chin, pretending to ponder what he was going to say. “I have millions of children, some demonic, some human, none of which I have any interest in besides the one and only, young Samuel. When Sam, and many others, turned six months, I made a merry visit to their nurseries, gave them each a little boost brought to them via my blood and then left peacefully. Little miss Mary just had the bad luck to show up while I was feeding my son the stuff that he needed to grow big and strong and it wasn’t really in anything but self-defense that she was killed. I couldn’t exactly let her stop me, could I? Then my plans would be ruined! So. There’s the part involving the Winchester’s. In all honesty, I hadn’t planned on awakening Sam’s powers until he was older, but seeing how he’s the strongest of my little soldiers so far, I figured, ‘Hey! Why not?’ And my lord has he done fabulously! He’s taken to the addiction to my blood like a champ! And his inner commander? Whew! You should see the way he bosses the kids at the playground around! He’s got them dropping to their knees in prayer! And his brother doesn't even have a chance! Have you seen the way Sam’s got Dean wrapped around his finger? I swear Sam could tell Dean to give him all the blood in his body and Dean wouldn't even bat an eyelash.” Azazel clapped John’s hands together gleefully. “It makes me just so proud! Before you know it, Sam’ll be powerful enough to lead my army of children and he’ll be half the age what I had hoped in the beginning.”

Caleb’s head was swimming with all the newfound information. “So why did you kill Dean then, huh?” He cringed inwardly, already apologizing to the dead boy. “I mean, you said so yourself. He was worth nothing, but wasn’t he good to keep around to watch Sam when you were busy? I’m sure a big bad demon like you couldn’t stay cooped up in a nasty motel room all the time?”

Azazel smirked cynically. “Who said he was ever dead?”

Caleb’s world froze. “W-what are you talking about? I saw you! I saw what that chupacabra did to him! There’s no way he survived those wounds!” 

Azazel’s eyes flashed yellow angrily. “After all I’ve told you, you have the nerve to doubt the power that I hold?! Gah! You worthless piece of shit!” He flung his arm out and glared ruthfully at Caleb. 

Caleb threw his head back against the tree trunk, face screwed into a grimace. He grunted in pain as waves of fire flooded through his system. 

Azazel stood and marched angrily towards the incapacitated hunter. “I’m done with you. You had your big moment to be a hero and you folded. You will forever be remembered as the man that let Dean Winchester be killed and Sam Winchester to be turned into a monster. Let’s hope you still have some friends, Reeves.” He winked evilly and snapped his fingers.

All of the hunter’s muscles contracted as a tidal wave of agony washed over him. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he screamed as it felt like a million razor sharp knives started to slice into his brain.

His world went black as the taste of iron filled his mouth.

~~~

 

Caleb roused groggily from a deep sleep with a headache the size of Mount. Rushmore. 

After determining that the damn thing wasn’t going to push his brains out to splatter against the pillow, he gingerly sat up and tried to rub the grit of sleep out of his eyes. 

“Guhhhhhhh.” He groaned out as the racket in his head upped a notch. 

His mouth felt cottony and his tongue felt too big for his head. He could taste his hangover sitting rancid in his mouth, and the nausea that followed that discovery almost sent him over the edge of the bed. That’s where he fell upon another discovery. 

He didn’t remember going out to drink enough to get a hangover. 

That statement wouldn’t be all that concerning to most people, but to a hunter like himself, it sent all sorts of warning bells off in his body. 

Now on as much as high alert as his hungover body allowed, he swung his legs over the side of the bed after determining that his room was empty of all living things besides himself. Knowing that he wasn’t in immediate danger, he let his pain win out for the moment and cradled his throbbing head in his hands. When the pounding was down to a bearable level and he was sure that he wasn’t going to lose whatever he had ingested the night before all over himself, he squinted blearily into the dimmed motel room. 

He was surprised to see that the floor and surrounding surfaces were completely covered in empty beer cans and liquor bottles. 

Ok. He knew for a fact that something monumentally terrible hadn’t gone wrong on the hunt he was on the day before. He was solo so there hadn’t been anyone for him to worry about getting injured besides himself and the hunt itself, a revenant, was located in an abandoned farmhouse miles away from any living neighbors. He remembers banishing the revenant with absolutely no injury to himself, which was almost unheard of on solo hunts, but there was nothing anywhere near depressing enough to have caused him to drink his entire liquor cabinet.

“What the fuuuuu…” His confused exclamation was broke off when his eyes landed on a piece of clothing hurriedly draped across the back of the room’s dining room chair. 

It was a lace bra.

Things started making a little more sense and he grinned sheepishly, though something still didn’t add up right. 

“How in the hell did me and one woman drink that fucking much?” He rubbed his forehead in frustration, the ludicrousness of the situation making his hangover headache come back with a frightening vengeance. 

He crawled off the bed, bladder deciding to join in the sadistic game of making Caleb Reeves miserable and tripped over something on the floor, crashing into the bedside table and knocking over the table lamp which went tumbling onto the floor with a splintering of glass. 

“Goddammit all to hell!” He shouted, the morning or afternoon’s- he didn’t even know anymore- mysteries taking their toll on his sanity, making him impatient and at his wit's end. 

He picked up the offending piece of material and took a double take when he realized that he was holding a pair of boxers in his hand.

A pair of boxers that sure as hell weren’t his own. 

First of all, they were about two times too big for his own skinny ass, and secondly, they were covered in Batman symbols. He wasn’t against Batman or anything, but his tragic backstory and lack of cool powers made him a less desirable choice compared to say, someone like Superman. 

The last piece of the puzzle finally clicked into place. 

He didn’t engage in threesomes often, preferring most times to give to just one person, mixing another sometimes just getting too complicated, but last night he must have been in a damn near celebratory mood. For a moment he’s disappointed that he got so trashed that he can’t even remember what his partners looked like and what exactly they got up to in the dark of the night, but the moment passes when he trips over two beer cans and almost pisses his pants when he accidentally presses his bladder against the table he falls on top of. 

As he runs to the bathroom, he snatches his bag from the closet. Might as well make the bathroom run a shower run as well. 

~~~

Half an hour later, the man walked from the bathroom, steam following his emergence, and water droplets still collecting in his short hair. 

He threw himself down on the bed, game controller firmly in hand, determined to sit his ass down and not move until he beat the boss level on Super Mario Bros. 

He was twenty minutes into the boss’s arena when his phone rang out shrilly from his bedside table. He chose to ignore it in hopes that the person on the other end would somehow get the memo that he was busy and wasn't going to answer the phone; it didn’t work out the way Caleb envisioned it.

Whoever was on the other end really must’ve wanted to talk to him. Oooh. Maybe it was one of his ‘friends’ from last night looking for another night, or even full day with him. Damn! That sounded like fun. 

He grinned cockily but even the thought of it being someone up for a good time couldn’t tear him away from achieving his goal of all Super Mario Bro. supremacy. 

After the fifth call came and went and without missing a beat the sixth came in, Caleb threw his controller down in frustration and annoyance. He reached over and snatched his phone from the bedside table. 

Connecting the call, Caleb threw himself back against the pillows, free-arm slung over his face. Without trying to hide his annoyance at all he answered the phone with a snappish, “This is Caleb.”

“Caleb? Why the hell haven’t you answered yer damn phone, ya idjit! We’re on a deadline, son! Have you got the boy yet?”

Caleb sat up puzzled. “Woah, woah, woah. Slow down there partner. I'm just gonna go out on a limb and say that it's Bobby Singer who's on the other end of this phone, just because I don't know any other person out there that would call me an idjit as their greeting. Now, what in the hell are you talking about, Bobby? What ‘boy’?"

Caleb could hear an almost hysterical laugh come from the other end. “What boy?! Caleb, the goddamn boy you’ve spent the last 24 hours with!! Did you go and hit yer head there, Reeves?! This ain’t no time to be playin’ jokes, kid! Who knows how much longer John’s going to stay in town and if you don’t get Dean now I don’t know if we’ll be able to get close enough to nab him again!”

Caleb snorted in bewilderment. “Bobby, just what in the hell are you talking about, old man? Are you sure you aren’t the one that hit their head or are you just going senile? I’m assuming you’re talking bout Winchester and his eldest, am I correct?”

Caleb could hear Bobby get more frustrated through the tension filled silence that filled the phone line. Caleb leaned against the headboard, waiting for the imminent outburst that was sure to follow the stillness; he wasn’t disappointed. 

“JUST WHAT IN GOD’S NAME HAS GOTTEN INTO YOU, CALEB??!! YES, DEAN FUCKING WINCHESTER AND HIS NO-GOOD, ABUSIVE FATHER!!”

Caleb pulled the phone away from his ear until he was sure that it wasn’t going to burst from the elder man’s roaring and then answered Bobby as calmly as could be. “Bobby. I don’t know what issues you have with that man, but honestly, I don’t care. From the one time I met with him, which might I add was over more than a year and a half ago at your own goddamn place, with you there the entire fucking time, he seemed like an okay father. Not the best I’ll admit, but trying his damnedest in one fucked up situation. Now just because you don’t agree with him bringing his children into the hunting life doesn’t mean you get to be judge and jury over the situation and have the right to be going around calling him names that aren’t true and that could get him into a whole lot of unwanted and unneeded trouble. When I saw the little green-eyed bugger that one time, he looked at his daddy like he’d just hung the moon. I don’t think a kid getting abused by his own pop would be giving his abuser that look. I don’t know what’s gotten into your head to make you think that you can go around and kidnap the man’s own son, but I’m gonna tell you right now. Don’t. It’s wrong and you’ll be rippin’ apart a family that’s already been hurt enough."

Caleb paused for a breath, waiting to see if the mechanic on the other end had something to say in response, but was met with another silence. “Bobby, man, we haven’t talked to each other in months and you’re throwin’ this shit at me? How in the hell do you keep friends? He chuckled dryly. “It was nice hearing your voice, old man, but maybe under different circumstances, it would’ve been better. I got work to get to but I’ll talk to you soon, as long as you keep this kidnappin’ thing to yourself. Maybe check out a head doctor, huh? Make sure that ole’ noggins still working like it used to. Might hit your crib up for a place to lay back and recuperate here in a few weeks, so keep your door open! I'll talk to you later, Singer.”

With that, he hung up the phone and stared at it oddly. 

That was one conversation that sent his mind reeling. Bobby wasn’t old enough to be gettin’ Alzheimer’s…or maybe he was. Jesus. He couldn’t even remember how old the old man was! Maybe he shouldn’t be giving Bobby so much shit about his brain not working right when he couldn’t even remember the little things. 

Oh well. The old mechanic probably had had a few too many just like he himself had, and he must’ve still been dealing with the wasted part and not the hangover part yet. He’d get over it and whatever the fuck he was rambling on about. 

For now, though, Caleb had a video game to get back, and this time he vowed not to move unless the world was ending outside his front door. 

 


End file.
